4. The Dragon Tree

“By the way,” Betty said to me, “you’re an asshole.”

The tallest point among our valley’s western mountains was an oddly flat-topped elevation known as Plateau Peak. It was so high and so expansive and presented so level a horizon that it was easy to forget that you were on top of a mountain. From near a certain wayward boulder you could see — about a hundred yards off — a lonely, leafless, gnarled oak tree. When silhouetted against the sunset, it looked like a dragon. But Betty and I were the only ones who had ever thought that. We had discovered it when we were teenagers and Betty had suggested one evening that I drive her someplace where we could be alone.

Twenty-five years later, we were once again sitting in my pickup truck and gazing at the Dragon Tree against the sunset. This time, however, the truck bed was filled with much more than a cooler full of beer and some blankets. This time, it was heaped with all types of goods from our salvage mission: nonperishable foods, liquor, ammunition, medical supplies, fuel, fabrics, batteries. This time, instead of being well groomed with a splash of cologne on my neck, my ever-lengthening beard was uncombed and I smelled faintly of diesel. My forearms were streaked with dirt and my lips were dry from dehydration and the summer wind. This time, instead of the delicate straps of a summer dress slipping off Betty’s shoulders, she was strapped head to toe in tactical gear, knives, and ammunition. Her wild blue hair had odd bits of debris and cobwebs in it. Indeed, it was a stark contrast to our first visit to Plateau Peak and the Dragon Tree. But we did have beer, warm as it was.

“Why am I an asshole?” I asked as I pulled the tab on another can.

“I heard what you said to Kyle the other night,” she answered.

“I say a lot of things to Kyle on a lot of nights.”

“The night the new dog showed up,” Betty continued, “Kyle asked you to think of something positive about… all this. You told him you’re happy that there’s no longer hope for any of us.”

“That’s not what I said,” I countered. “I said that there’s no longer a future for any of us.”

“Same difference.”

“No,” I insisted, “there’s a difference. Don’t ask me to explain it, but there’s a difference.”

“Jack,” her voice got low, “do you believe that? Do you believe that there’s no future?”

I laughed, “Go ahead, Betty. When we get home tonight, go ahead and ask Liam what he wants to be when he grows up. No, ask him. When was the last time we did? When he was six? What did he say? Do you remember? He said he wanted to be a soldier. He is a soldier, Betty. Our ten-year-old son is a soldier.”

“Jack… what’s that by the tree?”

I lifted my binoculars. Despite the dimming sky, I could make out a hobbled figure. It gripped a twisted staff and limped toward the Dragon Tree. Its cloak and hair flapped in the breeze like a tattered battle flag guiding a retreat. “Human,” I said. “Maybe wounded.” The figure stopped a couple of paces from the tree. It turned and faced the path it had traveled. I saw its head jerk back and its body slump before I heard the shot.

I threw down my binoculars and turned the ignition. A moment later, Betty and I were inspecting the corpse by the light of my truck’s high beams. I turned what was left of an emptied head and instantly recognized the face.

“I know her,” I said. “Her name is Emilia. She used to come to my auctions whenever we had Hummels.”

“Oh,” Betty said, “that’s nice. Now her brains are all over our tree. My tree! And look at this.” She bent down and picked up the pistol next to Emilia’s body. “Look! You see this? It’s a Hi-Point. It’s a fucking Hi-Point pistol. She splatters her brains all over my tree and the cunt doesn’t even have the courtesy to leave behind a decent weapon?” She threw the gun off into the growing darkness and marched to the truck. “Come on. Help me find that kerosene we picked up today.”

“Why?”

“We’re torching the tree.”

“What?”

“Don’t argue with me, Jack!” Betty roared. “What the fuck are we doing up here? We’re not those kids anymore. We haven’t been for a long while, and now we’re not even the adults that those kids became. I don’t remember myself. Not as me! I remember the girl who named the Dragon Tree. She became a bank vice president and a wife and a mother. I just don’t remember her as me. I remember her like a friend from school who I’ve lost touch with or like a barista I used to make small talk with on my way to work. I remember young Elizabeth, who fell in love with silly, romantic Jack and who gave herself to him in an old Dodge Warlock not a hundred yards from here. I remember her, but I don’t know her, because she’s not me. Now help me burn down this fucking tree.”

“Betty...” my pleading trailed off.

“You’ve said it, Jack!” she shook her fists at me. “You! And I quote, ‘During the end of the world, nostalgia is a weakness.’ Fuck you. What’s the win here? Dying without suffering? Without prelude or premonition? Not leaving behind a mess?” She pointed to Emilia’s body, “This bitch lost. Fuck you and fuck Emilia and her choice of sidearm. And fuck this fucking tree!”

“Okay,” I said, “I’ll get the kerosene.”

As I drove us away, Betty watched the Dragon Tree burn in the sideview mirror.

“Are you all right?” I asked.

“I get it now,” Betty smiled. “Don’t ask me to put it into words, but I understand the difference between no hope and no future. I get it now.”

“I love you,” I said.

“I know,” Betty answered and then she snickered. “Fucking Han. Couldn’t say it back. What a cunt.” She sighed and opened another warm beer.